Rainy Days Are The Best Days To Die
by Sergeant OwlFox
Summary: He had nothing, but even nothing is something. And that something was, and would always be, the tears that fell from the heavens above him.


Things were coming to a close.

He could feel his breaths growing shallow, his body going numb and the dizziness settling in finally. His scythes slipped from his hands as his dearest friend and worst fear seemed to bid him farewell, the blades soon reducing into a single katana lying by his side.

"Hey! Say something!" A woman's voice called from above him, but his vision was too blurry for him to see whomever it was above him; only the bright orange smudge across the muted blue sky behind them.

"Say something, please! Please...!" His body was hugged close to the woman beside him, the warmth of her body barely processing against his own skin, colder and colder by the second.

He tried to reply, but his dry and cracked lips, caked with blood, only twitched. His fingers moved ever so slightly, feeling something cold touch them - a pause, then again. And again, and again, and again.

Suddenly, the tingling stopped. His whole body felt refreshed, cold, but alive.

As if he wasn't about to slip away from the woman who was holding him desperately in her arms.

But he knew better than to have faith in such a silly though. There was no way he _wouldn't_ die at this rate.

Drops of water began to fall, his ripped and stained-crimson clothes growing more damp, soaking it all in, the puddle of blood around him expanding quicker and quicker.

He tried to breathe in, but something seemed to get caught in his throat and he coughed weakly, tasting iron in his mouth as he nearly choked on a sticky and salty liquid. Some trickled from the corners of his lips, stinging as they touched the raw cuts on his cheeks and jawline.

The faint sound of footsteps running towards him and panicked shouting found his ears, but none of it was distinguishable, all just a jumbled mess of words.

He was fading fast.

The rain seemed to want to block everything out, pelting his pained form with its cold touch, helping the pain subside somewhat. But that would not bring him back from the imminent death he was facing.

A bitter chuckle left his dry and scratchy throat, and the others quickly quieted down. He weakly leaned his head back to look up at the sky, feeling the water hit his face, running down his cheeks, nose, and wetting his black, previously-spiky hair.

"I...couldn't have picked a better day to die," his voice was calm, though forced and tired. "Captain...are you there...?"

There was more murmuring, before he felt someone crouch on his other side, and lean over him. A smidge of white was in the corner of his eye, but he knew it would be useless to turn towards the man since he couldn't see well.

"...if you're talking, I - " his talking was rudely interrupted by harsh coughing, and he felt more blood pouring from his mouth. His Captain said something, a panicked tone in his voice, but it was well hidden within the man's calm façade. " - I'm...sorry I couldn't be a better lieutenant...take care of everyone, okay...?"

He thought over his words again before chuckling again. "...of course you will...why did I even ask..." He felt the Captain turn his head so he could look at him, and he smiled weakly. "Hey...if you ever see me back in the World of the Living at some point...give me a good punch, will ya...? One o' the ones you give me when I fuck up something..."

His only response was dead silence, but he was at a minor loss for words.

Feeling the icy water begin to truly sink into his wounds, he closed his eyes, his smile widening every-so-slightly.

"...sorry I'm leaving a few decades too early..." Opening his eyes again, he turned his head to look straight up again and let out a weak sigh. "Rain days...really...are the best..."

He felt his Captain take his hand and clench it tightly, before standing to walk away.

His heartbeat ceased, breathing coming to a stop, and his body went limp in the woman's arms.

He didn't last long enough to hear the wails of those who had been around him.

* * *

"...amoto?

"Yamamoto!"

The boy blinked, almost jumping in his shoes from being cut from his thoughts so suddenly. His brown eyes scaled over the people around him before settling on his brown-haired classmate, who was looking right back at him with a concerned gaze.

"Are you okay?" He asked, and the boy smiled, though it was as fake as could be.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. I'm going to go ahead and get to class early!" He didn't let his friend press, and he jogged away.

The boy's black hair jostled as the wind passed through them, the schoolbag he'd slung over his shoulder bobbing up and down in sync with his wide and quick strides.

His mind had so often drifted to strange places, and he never quite knew why. He never knew why, when he looked at his white-haired boxing friend, he felt such a strong wave of nostalgia. He never knew why, when he heard about death gods or scythes, he internally winced.

But, perhaps that was something he wasn't destined to find out quite yet.

Maybe it was because of the strange phantoms he saw everyday.

Maybe it was because of the strange people in black clothes who ran around, completely ignored by society and those around him.

But he would never know, would he?

The boy paused for a second, feeling a tingling in his right temple.

"Another one?" The boy hastily turned towards the tingling and dashed off, ignoring the questioning glances of his peers as he passed them. There was danger, and it was bad.

He wouldn't let it do anything to his classmates, or his town.

The boy felt his feet hit the ground in a steady tempo, going as quickly as he could. A few sharp turns, and he found himself standing before his very own home. Fear hit him with a start and his breath hitched.

The phantom was huge.

Easily taller than any building in the area, its pitch-black body and snow white mask standing out, a heavy contrast against the pale blue sky that served as a background to its icy red glare.

More and more phantoms were pouring out of a rip in the sky just behind it, flying or running in various directions.

But his feet were frozen where they were.

He couldn't take them all on, much less the huge one just before him.

The boy felt his knees grow weak, before he froze altogether. Was his father safe?

Was the man dead? No, he couldn't be, right? His father was much too capable to be killed by these things, right? Right?

His thoughts were once again interrupted when he heard someone shouting. A man's voice.

The boy's head snapped towards the sound. It wasn't his father - it didn't sound like him, at least. But someone was still going to die.

The phantoms were terrifying, and he was almost reluctant to go after the sound - but there was no way that he would let someone die. Newfound determination in his veins, the boy sprinted for the source of the voice, and entered someone's front gate, before his brown eyes found a head of short silver hair.

A man, much older than himself, maybe late twenties or early thirties, was on the ground, wrestling with a phantom, who seemed to have cornered him. The man was battered and bruised, obviously tired. Had he been fighting the phantoms for a long time?

The boy shook it off, and took a second to muster up all his courage before letting out a cry and running forward, taking his bag and slamming both himself and the bag into the phantom with full force.

There was a satisfying cracking sound and a scream of pain, but the boy soon found himself rolling on the ground and hitting his back against the wall with an unpleasant thump.

"...ow..." The boy muttered things under his breath before hastily standing up to see if the phantom had recovered - only to find it nowhere to be scene, and the man staring at him bewildered. Finding his balance, the boy jogged over to him (albeit with a slight limp from the encounter with the bricks) and offered him a hand. "Are you okay? You looked like you were in some real trouble just now."

The white haired man was still in a minor state of shock, eyes trailing to the boy's hand before taking it with a grunt of thanks, almost stumbling from the boy's surprising strength, and quick tug upwards.

"I'm fine." The man's voice was a bit smoother than he had expected, though tired, which was to be expected, he supposed. "Thanks for the save, er..." The man frowned, as if having caught himself just before he made a mistake.

"Takeshi, Takeshi Yamamoto," the boy let go of the man's hand, but the other male's grip still stood strong, as if not having realized Takeshi had let go.

"I - I see...thanks, Yamamoto. I'm Kensei, Kensei Muguruma." Takeshi took the opportunity to shake the man's hand politely with a happy smile that the man almost seemed to flinch upon seeing.

"Nice to meet you, Mister Muguruma. Are you one of the people who go around killing phantoms?" Kensei finally let go of Takeshi's hand and seemed a little saddened by the question - so much so that Takeshi was considering apologizing for the possibility of having said something horribly wrong.

"Well, yes, although that's...not what we're called. Typically people call us death gods."

Death gods.

Takeshi tensed, eyes widening a fraction.

Again, with that reaction - the word seemed so familiar, but he had no idea why it seemed to have such an important place in his mind.

"Wow...never thought I'd meet one a death god, ever," he said jokingly, and chuckled - Kensei did as well, though his was a tad bitter.

There was a soft beeping sound, and Kensei searched himself before taking out a small phone - a slightly outdated one at that, and checked the screen before frowning. He closed the phone, pocketing it again and looking at Takeshi again. "I have to get going - thanks again for the rescue."

Takeshi gave him an "of course" nod and the man's lip twitched upwards, before waving lazily and turning around to leave.

The boy was about to go on his own way, before he heard a "Wait, Yamamoto." To which, he turned around to look at the man again, who was gazing at him over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Does the...does the name Shūhei Hisagi mean anything to you?"

Shūhei Hisagi? Takeshi blinked, confused before frowning in thought. "No, it doesn't ring any bells." The man's eyes changed at this. "Why do you ask?"

"..." Kensei turned around and resumed walking away. "...just wondering. See you some other time, Yamamoto."

Takeshi gazed after him for a moment before checking the time and making a surprised sound. "I'm going to be late - bye, Mister Muguruma! It was nice talking to you!" With that, he ran off in a hurry, not noticing Kensei's gaze on his back.

The boy soon disappeared from sight and Kensei ran his hand down his face with a heavy sigh.

"...sorry Hisagi...

"I forgot to give you a punch, like you asked me to."


End file.
